Читать книгу An Intimate Wilderness - Norman Hallendy - Страница 23

TABLE D’HÔTE

I’m often asked what I eat when travelling with elders in the North. The simple answer is that I eat whatever is edible and available. When I’m with other qallunaat, I eat southern food. When I’m out on the land, I eat what the Inuit eat. I must admit I was pleased to discover from the onset that I could eat raw meat without the consequences suffered by some qallunaat. There are only a few things I avoid if possible without offending my host: fermented meat or fermented fish, the eyes of animals, and fully formed chicks still in their eggs. I have tried those delicacies and, while they taste fine, I’ve found that they don’t agree with me. Eyes taste somewhat sweet but have no texture. Fermented (rotten) meat or fish has a taste and smell similar to very ripe Stilton cheese and works through me within minutes of its consumption.

The pleasure of feasting

The elders I knew favoured caribou — raw, boiled, dried, or cooked — above all other food. I asked a few elders to categorize their preferences in food, resulting in the following list: walrus, caribou, ringed seal, bearded seal (square flipper), beluga whale, Arctic char, goose and ptarmigan, various bird eggs, and when available, berries and edible seaweed. Once while travelling with Kiawak Ashoona, I discovered a chunk of dried caribou in the bottom of my parka that must have been at least two years old. Having deftly picked off the debris that had accumulated on the meat over the years, Kiawak and I proceeded to have a delicious and well-seasoned snack.

It can be amusing to watch a qallunaq eating country food for the first time. They tend to take a small piece of meat, pinch it between the fingers, and display an exaggerated chewing motion as if they were really enjoying the food. Even more amusing is seeing a person trying to eat maktaaq, whale skin, for the first time. Though the taste is similar to that of walnuts, maktaaq tends to have the consistency of Indian rubber, leaving the unsuspecting qallunaq desperately trying to find a place to hide it while no one is watching.

I remember the time I met Joanassie Salamonie coming in from hunting at Kiaktuq. He carried a brace of ptarmigans and asked me to come and join him for a meal. After plucking the entire bird, the Inuit eat it raw, innards and all, except for the beak and claws. “You can taste the season of spring,” Joanassie said. He went on to describe how the taste of an animal in its prime allows you to “taste the season” in which it was taken. I reminded Joanassie about the time he visited me in Carp, Ontario brought me a snow goose from the Arctic. Upon examining the bird, I discovered that it was half-eaten. “It was dinnertime,” Joanassie said with a shrug and smile. “I got hungry waiting for you.”

I found that eating country food when travelling or out on the land is both nourishing and satisfying. Even a single boiled eider duck egg kept me going for a long time. There is, however, one dish that makes my mouth water whenever I think of it. First you make a small iga (fireplace) with three rocks and place a fourth flat rock on top to act as a griddle. Then you gather an armful of Arctic heather and, if available, dried Arctic willow twigs. Place the heather and twigs beneath the flat rock on the fireplace, light it, and allow the griddle to become very hot. Then place strips of fresh caribou on top of the griddle, feeding the fire with heather until the meat is cooked to a golden brown. The sweet smoke of the heather infuses the meat with an exquisite flavour. It is not the taste of a season; it is the taste of paradise.